


1. first impressions

by peterjackson



Series: Jaysa's Whumptober2020 [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Bad Words, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Harley Keener, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Like a few words here and there, Mild cussing, Ransom, Waking up Restrained, Whump, shackled, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterjackson/pseuds/peterjackson
Summary: Whumptober2020 - Day 1“What a dick.”Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved into it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were.He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.-+-Peter Parker meets Harley Keener under less than ideal circumstances: Harley Keener, who also seems to know Tony Stark. Being held for ransom together makes a pretty unique first impression.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Harley Keener, Peter Parker and Tony Stark
Series: Jaysa's Whumptober2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949545
Comments: 20
Kudos: 294





	1. first impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This is my official debut for Whumptober (2020 and otherwise.) While I intend to complete all prompts in an efficient fashion, I most likely will not be able to fit this all in a month, as I have school and work. So feel free to subscribe to me or the series to stay caught up. 
> 
> For day one, I used the prompts "Waking up restrained" and "shackled." You can read this as Parkner if you want however nothing romantic happens between Harley and Peter which is why I did not tag it.
> 
> I would also like to thank @justme--emily on Tumblr or Emily_F6 on here for beta reading this for me; thank you so much!

“Hey, what are you--- wait, leave him alone---”

Peter was stirred into a thready consciousness by his spider sense flaring at the back of his neck seconds before the water was dumped over him: ice cold, shocking, and a hell of a wakeup call.

He jolted upright, skin freezing over, eyes snapping open, wrists pulling forward only to be stopped by a pair of thick cuffs that kept his arms up over his head. Peter jerked his head up, breathing raggedly as icy water dripped down his face, ran down his eyes and nose and lips. The frigid water that now drenched him from his head down had chased away any lasting drowsiness and now all there was was panic, tightening in his chest as he watched the man in front of him set down a wet metal bucket and then crouch down in front of him so they were nearly eye to eye.

“Sleep good?” the man asked gruffly, a sinister grin twisting on his face. 

Peter got the feeling he didn’t actually care, so he pressed his lips together and glanced around, eyes immediately locking on a flash of motion on the other side of the room--- a boy chained to a radiator across the room, barely visible just beyond the man’s shoulder. Peter’s gaze shifted. He caught a short glimpse of the molding, decrepit basement he was in --- cracked concrete floors and walls, wooden rafters running across an unfinished ceiling, stone stairs to his left leading up to a plain door, a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and casting muted light across the room --- before the man’s hand shot forward, gripping Peter’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet. His wicked grin had dropped into a scowl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man said curtly, squeezing Peter’s jaw one last time before letting it and grabbing something off the floor. He raised something and Peter tried to flinch back, pressing his back against the wall he was sitting up against. “Smile.”

Peter squinted against the water dripping into his eyes and the camera flash that popped against his vision, almost blinding him. The man lowered the camera and stood, heading for the stairs Peter had noticed earlier.

“What the hell do you want?” Peter asked, voice more gravelly than he intended. The man’s laughter followed him out the door, which he shut and locked behind him.

“What a dick.”

Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved through it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were.

He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.

“What happened? Where are we?” The questions were out of his mouth as soon as he was done inspecting the room for answers. His gaze caught a small window the size of a textbook above the other boy’s head, but he dismissed it quickly. It wasn’t big enough to climb through --- for either of them to. A thought occurred to him and he paused. “Wait --- who are you?”

His head was starting to throb even worse. The boy pursed his lips, eyes narrowing in what might have been distrust before his face cleared of doubt. “Harley. And I don’t know where we are.”

A southern-sounding accent and Peter was suddenly left wondering if he was still in New York.

“What happened to me?” Peter repeated, swallowing in a poor effort to try to make his mouth less dry. He tentatively looked up, wincing again, and shook his cuffed arms, which were looped around another close-ended pipe jutting out the wall. “Or us, I guess.”

Harley tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. It was when the light hit the side of his face that Peter noticed the darkening bruises around Harley’s eyes and over his cheek.

“They knocked you out. I thought they killed you,” Harley said, and he would have managed to look kind of calm if Peter didn’t see his hands shaking. “Do you remember?”

Peter licked his lips, the cold on his skin increasing --- and not just because of the dread swelling in his chest. He was sure he could break the cuffs above his head if he tried, but he _wasn’t_ sure about Harley and whether or not he was trustworthy, even if they were sort of in this together. He also wasn’t sure why he was here in the first place --- or why an important chunk of his memories seemed to have been erased.

“You don’t remember that, do you?” 

Harley was perceptive and when Peter glanced up at him, shifting to try and bring some feeling back into his shoulders, his face was dark.

“No,” Peter said quietly. “Uh, I remember I was leaving my house and, uh... “ Peter chewed his lip in thought before giving in. “Then nothing.”

He took a second to focus and listen for anything upstairs. It was almost silent, and the only heartbeats he could hear were his and Harley’s. The man who had been here before had left, and if Harley’s information was reliable --- which it probably was --- then so had whoever else had taken them. Peter heard Harley sigh and looked back up.

Harley leaned against the radiator he was chained to, looking tired. “They took us --- me first but eventually we stopped in front of a street and they dragged you in too.” He straightened a bit. “You’re Peter, right?”

Peter was too tired to figure out how he knew that. He nodded.

“Right,” Harley said, shifting and bumping his cuffs against the radiator hard enough that it made a small sound. “I almost thought you were going to get away but then one of them hit you with a crowbar or something and you dropped.”

“Huh,” Peter said, arms twitching as he tried to bring them down to gauge the injury on his head. He suddenly remembered why he had been out and about --- where he had been going. Stark Tower, to get his head stitched up by an actual medical professional instead of in his low-lighted bathroom by himself. The people who had assailed him weren’t the only criminals to get the drop on him that evening. “That explains the headache.”

Harley barked out a low laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got more than a headache, Peter. I’m surprised you’re even awake right now.”

Peter hummed a quiet affirmation, swallowing again because his mouth was dry and he was thirsty. He was starting to wish he’d come to his senses earlier --- maybe then he could have tried to get some water out of their captors. 

Well, he reminded himself bitterly as he started to shiver, they _had_ given him water. Too much.

“So, Peter,” Harley spoke again as Peter gingerly tilted his head back and looked at the barren ceiling. “How do you know Tony Stark?”

Peter snapped his head down so quick he almost gave himself whiplash on top of the pain that lashed through his skull which he promptly ignored. “ _What_?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Harley answered. “Ransom.”

Peter was still tripped up and felt himself start to stumble over his own words. “They want--- How do _you_ know Tony Stark?”

“I asked you first.”

Peter mulled over that before deciding to go with the truth. If Peter was going to break them out of there --- and he still wasn’t sure if it was better to do that or wait for the cavalry --- they needed to trust each other. A small portion of the truth couldn’t hurt.

“I’m his intern,” Peter said truthfully, not pulling away from Harley’s scrutinous gaze. 

He _was_ telling the truth. Technically, Mr. Stark had made Peter his intern after the whole Vulture incident. It took a while, but they were there now.

“His intern?” Harley asked disbelievingly, and Peter squinted at him. “Not his kid or something?”

“Just his intern,” Peter said stiffly. “What about you then?”

Harley looked at him before the scrutiny dropped. He shrugged, a small motion, and rattled his cuffs again. “We’re connected.”

When Peter shot a dubious look his way, Harley cleared his throat and said, “I met him once. Threatened him with a potato gun too. But I think I made up for it by saving his life, so.” Peter raised an eyebrow as Harley leaned back against the wall. “I was actually on my way to meet him when this happened.” He raised his cuffs an inch as if Peter didn’t know what “this” meant --- not that Peter was focused. His mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to decipher what was going on.

He opened his mouth to say something and closed it --- head hurting again --- before finally saying, “You saved his--- wait." It clicked. " _You_ are potato gun kid?”

“Potato Gun _what_?”

“Mr. Stark said---”

Peter cut off abruptly when he heard a door slam somewhere above them, then footsteps thumping against carpet. His skin crawled and he shot a glance at Harley, who was instantly more awake.

“What? What is it?”

The other boy got up on his knees as much as his bindings allowed and looked up towards the staircase where Peter moved his gaze too.

“They’re back,” Peter said quietly, because he definitely heard two sets of footsteps. “I can hear them.”

Harley had gone quiet, not questioning Peter for a second, which made him relieved. Maybe he could leave this situation with his secret identity unscathed --- or maybe Mr. Stark would show up first, which would be exponentially better. Even if Harley _did_ know Tony, Peter wasn’t sure how much trust he could or should put in a boy he’d just met.

“Okay,” Harley breathed. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, because he didn’t. “Do what they want, I guess.”

It was a terrible idea but until Peter could think of something better, it was all they had --- and Harley wasn’t coming up with anything either, though his face was creased with thought.

“You know,” Harley began under his breath. They had both wordlessly gotten quieter. “This was my first week in New York. ‘S pretty shitty.”

Peter breathed out a soft laugh, even though nothing was really funny. “That sucks, man. If it makes you feel any better, Iron Man is almost certainly on his way right now.”

Harley’s eyes swung to his. “You think so?”

 _I know so,_ Peter wanted to say, but he had to face the fact that unless their captor had immediately sent the ransom demand --- which he sorely doubted --- Mr. Stark didn’t even know Peter had been on the way to the tower, so it was really up to how fast May noticed that Peter wasn’t checking in after patrol. He cursed himself for not telling her where he was going either.

“My shoulders are killing me,” Peter mumbled.

Harley glanced from Peter’s face up to his cuffed hands, which were surely bruised and raw around his wrists if the pain was anything to go by. It wasn’t like the rest of Peter was in better shape. Harley didn’t need to spell out that Peter had fought hard for Peter to _feel_ exactly how hard he’d fought.

“Maybe they’ll let you loose,” Harley said quickly as Peter heard footsteps approaching the top of the stairs. “Ask them to go to the bathroom.”

Peter didn’t say anything, concentrating hard on the noises upstairs. He’d thought they were coming his way but they’d stopped. Peter almost jumped when they started yelling:

_“What the hell are we supposed to do now, huh? I thought you said he was going to accept the damn ransom!”_

_“He was!”_ retorted someone, but they sounded unsure. Peter recognized his voice: the guy who had taken his picture. _“And he will! Besides, it’s only been a few hours. We can make Stark stew --- just give it time.”_

_“Time? Really, Carter? How much more time? And who the hell are these kids anyway? Why would he care?”_

_“For one, he’s a superhero for crying out loud. He_ saves _people. But I showed you the files. One of them’s his intern,”_ Carter replied. “ _But they’re both on his private server in_ encrypted _folders. And the Parker kid’s been seen hanging around him more than a few times. They’re comfortable together. That’s way more than an internship, I’m telling you. I promise it’s the break we were looking for.”_

The other man paused, probably mulling it over, and Carter pushed on, _“Listen to me, James. This is it._ ” He let out a hysterical laugh. _“We’re gonna be rich, man!”_

James let out a hot breath. _“Yeah, okay. I trust you.”_

 _“You trust my_ hacking _\---”_

“ _Whatever,”_ James shot back. There was silence and Peter thought they were done before James continued, “ _What’s our next step, then?”_

Carter didn’t hesitate. “ _Leave ‘em down there. We can take a video tomorrow and the worse they look the better. Stark will pay up.”_

James laughed. “ _He better. That island is not going to buy itself.”_

Peter tuned out after that, sagging against the wall again. They seemed like they were safe --- for now. He glanced back at Harley, who was watching him. Peter caught a short glimpse of his face: head tilted, eyes curious, before the lights went out. The darkness further confirmed that he wouldn’t be seeing James or Carter until the next day. Why else enclose them in shadow? He was glad for the window above Harley though, even if it wasn’t a means for escape. It let a small patch of moonlight onto the concrete floor, and let him tell the time, at least somewhat.

“I don’t think they’re going to bother us until tomorrow,” Peter said. Harley stared at him for a beat before settling down too. Peter felt a sort of kinship spark in his chest. At least now he knew they were surely in this together --- and Harley _was_ Potato Gun Kid, so if push came to shove, he could lose his qualms about Harley knowing --- _not_ that Mr. Stark didn’t have ways of making people forget. 

“We should probably get some sleep,” Peter added tiredly, sitting up despite his dimming awareness. “I can wake you if something happens.”

“This isn’t like the movies, Peter,” Harley said, but he looked tired too. “You don’t have to stay up. If shit is going to happen, it’ll happen.”

“It could be like the movies,” Peter offered, trying to sound more in control than he was. “Besides, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep with my arms like this.”

Harley’s face dropped and he made a movement forward that was quickly aborted when his cuffs were pulled. Peter could tell he wanted to say something but there was nothing to say. Harley looked at him one last time before angling his body against the radiator and trying to get comfortable up against it.

“So much for going to the bathroom,” Harley mumbled, and when it went silent, Peter was acutely aware that he didn’t want Harley to stop talking.

The quiet felt too real, too unnerving. And Peter liked Harley’s voice, he realized. Maybe him and Harley could be friends, when they got out of the dingy basement and preferably to the luxurious Medbay in Stark Tower. Or to a restaurant --- either would be superb.

Peter listened quietly in the darkness. It was cold, in the basement, as if the lights going off had sucked out the miniscule amount of warmth there was. Or maybe that had been the water. Peter was still soaked, and now he was shivering as he waited for Harley to fall asleep. Eventually, he did: Peter heard his heartbeat steadily fall into a calmer, steadier rhythm and his breaths even out. Still, Peter waited until he was sure that the other boy was completely out before letting his walls drop. Then, he let out a hitched breath and hunched forward, trying to breathe through the inferno that was consuming his skull.

He could feel the differences in injuries. The blow from the crowbar was on a whole other plane from the half-healed cut below it --- something that felt like it had happened years ago. It was like his head had a heartbeat of its own, the way it pounded.

Peter was stuck. He didn’t want to stay in this basement any longer than he had to, but revealing himself to a kind of-stranger --- a circumstantial acquaintance --- plus two petty criminals seemed like too big of a risk to take, and not just for himself. What if Harley got hurt in the crossfire of whatever fight inevitably broke out? 

Peter had to think. Mulling in the darkness was a start, but his mind was sloppy because of the cold and the head trauma. He needed to come up with a plan that would get them both out --- one that had zero chance of failure. He could imagine what would befall Harley or even himself if he messed up.

He groaned quietly and leaned back against the wall. He was still freezing, and shivers wracked his body. After a moment, he made one decision.

He needed to heal up before he did anything, at least a little bit. Maybe bring the pain in his head down from agonizing to bearable. Then he would figure out something to do. Maybe between now and morning, he’d know. Maybe between now and morning, Mr. Stark would have tracked him down.

For the next few hours, Peter dozed. It wasn’t quite sleep, but it allowed his healing factor to get a crack at the concussion. Sure enough, when Harley finally stirred in the earliest hours of the morning --- if the patch of gray-blue sky visible through the miniscule window was any indication --- his head felt somewhat better.

“Peter,” Harley whispered in the near darkness.

Peter’s eyes flitted up from his lap to Harley’s. “I’m awake.”

“Still?”

Peter shrugged --- barely visible. Harley shifted on the floor.

“My legs are numb.”

“Same.”

“Shouldn’t you try to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Harley groaned softly across the room. “Are you always so cryptic?”

“No, just when I get kidnapped,” Peter deadpanned. 

Harley cracked a smile. “You’re horrible.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell, besides their breathing. Peter knew James and Carter were still upstairs; he could hear them sleeping and hoped they wouldn’t wake up soon. He still needed time. Time to come up with a plan since Mr. Stark hadn’t found them. Peter had total faith that if Mr. Stark _did_ know where he was, he’d have already been here.

They were on their own. 

“Harley,” Peter said after a while, when the men upstairs started to stir. “When they come down here, I need you to stay quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I have an idea.”

Harley straightened. “Care to share it with the class?”

“No,” Peter said, rolling his wrists in a poor attempt to restore some feeling to them. “Just trust me.”

“ _Or_ you can trust _me_ and we can figure out something together,” Harley shot back quietly. “Because I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but you look horrible.”

“I’m fine.”

Harley scoffed. “And I’m a city boy.”

Peter scrunched his face. “Where are you from again?”

Harley looked surprised by the sudden change of conversation but answered anyway. “Tennessee. I’m guessing you’re from New York, then?”

“Yeah. Queens.”

“Hm.”

Silence again, until Peter heard voices upstairs. He listened carefully, trying not to let anything play out on his face.

“ _I_ _s the camera set up?”_

_“Ready to livestream once we bring ‘im up here.”_

_“Come on then.”_

Footsteps, approaching the top of the staircase. Peter tuned out.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I said about being quiet?”

“Remember what I said about not caring?”

“I’m serious---”

“Peter, we’re in this together---”

“Harley, just--- listen to me, okay? They’re coming.”

Harley’s face grew grim, maybe a little confused on top of that, but Peter continued flexing his hands, rolling his wrists, stretching arms: trying to get into fighting shape. Well, he wasn’t going to fight just yet. Not until and unless he needed to. 

The lock slid against the door, and if Harley wasn’t convinced that Peter was right, he was then. The door opened and Peter felt his blood rush --- warming him --- and his heartbeat jump --- revving up. He’d heard what the men had said before the lights had gone off a few hours ago: hopefully, they'd put more of their stakes in the “Parker kid,” which was Peter.

All he’d have to do was get them alone and take them out --- two quick punches which would be like cutting butter for Peter, even in his less-than-ideal condition. Harley wouldn’t have to know --- and he surely wouldn’t be in harm's way.

Peter recognized Carter first: the man who’d taken his picture. James must be the other guy, hanging back towards the staircase. Peter assessed their faces, burned them into his memory just in case he needed to pick them out of lineup later. Though for the way that Mr. Stark moved in these situations, he doubted he’d need to, but it was a necessary precaution.

Carter was clearly the one in control --- and he looked it too. He was imposing, tall and bulky, with a mean face like smashed in bulldog. Peter knew that somewhere behind the demeanor though was a functioning brain; you didn’t get into Tony Stark’s personal servers without one, even if he’d barely breached them. James was tall, too, but lanky, jittery. He hung back towards the stairs but not in a way to suggest he couldn’t wrestle down an average teenage boy.

Luckily, Peter wasn’t one. He’d faced bigger and badder and had spent too much time in the dirty basement thank you very much. He strained his wrists, barely moving. He didn’t want to break the cuffs until they were secluded, but it was a small relief to know that he could.

“Keener,” Carter said, a wicked smile on his face. “You’re up first.”

For a moment, Peter’s brain short-circuited at the startled look on Harley’s face. His eyes shot to Peter, panic lit up in them, and Peter finally realized what Carter had meant by “Keener.” Or rather, _who._

“Wait,” Peter said, stumbling over a leaden tongue as Carter kicked Harley’s legs aside and grabbed the boy by his hair. “Get the hell off him.”

Carter’s flinty eyes flitted over to Peter, who was leaning forward as much as he could, dread scooping out his chest like pumpkin guts. James was already kneeling down Harley’s cuffs, preparing to drag him away, while Carter gripped Harley’s shoulder with one hand and Harley’s hair with the other, holding him in place.

“Shut it, Parker,” Carter snapped without turning, and Peter bit his tongue hard in anger. “Keener, up.”

Harley’s cuffs were undone and despite the way he thrashed and swore blue murder, the boy was dragged up onto his feet. Peter had two cards to play, so he blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, suddenly uncaring of the pain in his head or the sinister look that never really left Carter’s face or the way that Harley flashed him an angry, disbelieving look.

“He won’t get you anything!” Peter yelled. “Not like I will! Take me and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Carter froze, James froze, _everything_ froze. The petty irritation drawn on Carter’s face was washed away by greedy hunger. Harley’s eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Peter could almost hear him saying _What are you doing?_ as Carter tilted to his head hungrily, casting a knowing glance at his partner.

It’s a good thing Harley didn’t actually ask him that; Peter couldn’t have answered. But now that he had their attention, it was too late to back out. He’d have to figure something else out.

“Care to elaborate?” Carter asked lowly, gripping Harley’s hair tighter and pulling his head back: an unspoken threat. Harley was seething, jaw clenched and posture stiff between the two men holding him up. Carter shoved Harley back into James’ arms, eyeing Peter darkly. “Speak, Parker.” Peter swallowed, eyes flicking between Carter and Harley.

“Put him down and I’ll talk.”

Carter’s jaw twitched, and he cast his partner a glance before nodding his chin curtly towards the radiator. Harley’s resistance to both James getting him back down by the radiator and Peter’s plan was evident, but futile. Carter was already moving and in seconds, Harley was cuffed again and staring at Peter hopelessly.

Peter ignored the way his neck prickled when Carter walked forward: slowly, like a tiger stalking up to its prey. He crouched down, even slower, before his hand shot out, gripping Peter’s chin --- pressing the rest of his hand against Peter’s neck hard --- and roughly jerking his face upward.

“I don’t think you realize how this works,” Carter said, taking time to drag out his words as if Peter wasn’t beyond caring. He had two things in mind: get himself out of the room, then get them _both_ out of this place. 

“ _I_ call the shots around here,” Carter said gruffly, holding Peter’s face and using his other hand to snake up Peter’s neck, into his hair. Peter only sat stiffly, unwilling to give in. “And you listen, understand?” When Peter remained stoic, Carter gripped his hair like he’d done Harley’s. “Last chance to answer me.”

Peter shot a glance over Carter’s shoulder, towards Harley. He flicked his gaze back to Carter in time to see a muscle under his eye jump. Then, in the space of a breath, and in a motion that Peter might not have been able to dodge even he wanted, Carter stood and slammed his knee directly into Peter’s face, pulling Peter’s head down by his hair in the process.

Harley’s shout was lost in the ringing of his ears that followed the sound of Peter’s nose snapping, sending blood down his face and onto his shirt.

Peter didn’t have a chance to really recover his bearings when his collar was getting seized and his bleary-eyed, bloody face was being pulled upwards. Carter twisted his bloody shirt in his fists. Peter stared up at him, breathing hard through his mouth.

“Now,” Carter said, lips twisting upwards. “Either you can finish what you were saying earlier, or we bring the other boy up to make a fun video for your boss. You pick.”

It wasn’t much of a choice in Peter’s eyes. He scowled.

“I’m the one you want,” he reiterated, breaths harsh. “Harley has been in New York for a few _days_. I’ve spent every weekend at the Avengers Compound for six months. Believe me, I have the bigger price tag.”

He was bluffing, because he had no idea how well Mr. Stark had kept in contact with Harley after the potato gun/Mandarin incident that he had told Peter the tiniest bit about, but Carter didn’t call him on it --- not that Peter gave him much of a chance.

He pressed on. “I’ll do whatever you want, _say_ whatever you want. Let me prove it to you. Just leave him out of it.”

Carter shook his head amusedly and stepped back. “You really think you’re the hero, don’t you?” Peter didn’t dignify him with a response, because he’d gotten what he’d wanted --- both of them had. “James, help me bring up.”

Peter stayed still as James pulled a keyring out of his pocket. With both of them standing above him, he couldn’t see his arms or them unlocking them, but he immediately felt the tension dissipate when his bindings were pulled away.

Peter let out a choppy sigh of relief that was short-lived when he was tossed forward instead of hoisted upwards. His arm felt like it was filled with TV static --- he couldn’t catch himself, could only brace himself as he hit the ground on his stomach and was nudged by a booted foot onto his back.

“Change of plans,” Carter said from above, grinning down. “I think we need to roughen you up a bit first. Make sure you’re camera ready.”

Peter didn’t know what his reaction was, but it was swiftly replaced with one of pain and shock as a foot caught his ribcage, then the side of his face, then his stomach. Harley was yelling again, and Peter was losing the will to go along with it. But almost as quickly as the barrage of blows began it was over. 

Peter was left gasping wildly on the floor while James grabbed his limp arms and cuffed them in front of him. His _everything_ ached, and when they hoisted him up, he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

They dragged him between them towards the stairs, and Peter rolled his head to the side in time to see Harley’s face before he was taken upstairs, the door slamming shut behind him.

Peter wasted no time --- the vigilante in him bucking to life. The second the door was shut, he snapped his cuffs like it was toilet paper around his wrists and not steel, then whipped around to deliver a knockout blow to James, who grunted out a choked gasp of surprise before his eyes slipped shut. 

Carter managed to react quick enough to pull out something black and shiny that Peter realized was a handgun at the last second; the bullet sank into the wall above Peter’s shoulder and Peter kicked the offending weapon out of the guy’s hand. Carter was clearly outraged. He lunged forward like a maniac, managing to tackle Peter into something large and wooden --- a bookcase Peter was pretty sure; he couldn’t really see where he was --- both of them tripping over James, slumped on the floor. They hit the bookcase and rolled onto crusty carpe; Peter noticed it was an ugly shade of burnt orange that even Aunt May couldn’t find character in as he got to his feet, shaking out his arms. Peter spat blood out of his mouth and this time, Carter was the one beneath him, looking up as Peter grabbed the man’s black jacket collar and yanked him up directly into his fist: effectively knocking his lights out. 

It was almost worth the wait.

Peter doubled over to catch his breath, more worn out than he’d been since he had to run a mile in gym with his asthma --- pre-bite. It was Harley’s screaming that drew him upright, faint behind the thick door. He must have heard the commotion and probably thought the worst.

Peter staggered over to the door, one hand clutching his ribs --- one of which was definitely broken --- and cracked it open, calling, “One second!”

Carter didn’t stir as Peter rolled him onto his side and rifled through his pockets until he was able to produce the same ring of keys and a phone: a burner at that. Peter shoved it in his pocket and limped back over to the door atop the staircase.

Harley watched him with wide, wild eyes as Peter made his way down the stairs and towards him, key ring in hand. Peter thought Harley would be attacking him with questions --- that’s what Peter would have done anyway --- but instead he watched unblinkingly as Peter unlocked the cuffs, watched them drop onto the floor with a metal clatter, and watched Peter kick them away.

“Sorry,” Peter breathed, extending a hand and pulling Harley to his feet. “I should have---”

Harley was colliding with Peter in an instant, and before Peter could blink he was wrapping his arms around him tightly in a panicked hug --- body shaking, even. Peter hesitated before returning it, leaning his head against the top of Harley’s shoulder as his adrenaline started to crash. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and the plethora of injuries all rendering to his nerves at once certainly wasn’t helping.

Harley pulled away first, but his hands were still gripping Peter’s upper arms tightly. “I thought you were dead, _Jesus._ You’re crazy, you know that? You and Tony must get along swell.” 

He stepped back and scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing away. Peter cracked a tired grin and produced the burner phone from his pocket victoriously. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter said as Harley pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes. “But at least I got this. Help will be here before we know it.”

Harley looked up and couldn’t resist grinning, tired as it may be. He flicked his eyes towards the staircase. “You, uh, took care of them right?” Peter nodded slowly and Harley managed to look a little pale despite his country tan. “Right, well, I am not going to ask. Not yet, at least,” he added with a pointed look at Peter, who looked down, stomach rolling at the idea of another person knowing who he was. Maybe he’d tell Harley, but the uncertainty was there, and he doubted the nerves would leave until _he_ left the house. “You think they have food up there?”

“Probably.”

A trip up the staircase later, Harley cast a satisfied look at James' and Carter’s unmoving --- but definitely living --- forms as they entered the stomach of the house, which turned out to be a cabin. Peter managed to keep himself upright until they got to the living room. Even though the thought of food made their stomachs growl, the thought of staying there a second longer repulsed both of them, so they stumbled out onto the porch, inhaling deeply and casting shaky smiles each other’s way.

Peter ended up sitting on the front steps, carefully lowering himself down as to not further aggravate his injuries, while Harley all but collapsed onto the porch swing, which creaked obnoxiously in the gusty wind.

“Did ya call him?” Harley asked from behind him.

“I texted him,” Peter responded tiredly, before propping his arms onto his knees and laying his head on his arms. He was freezing but it wasn’t cold enough to make going back inside the cabin worth it. He wished he had a jacket --- or even a flannel. Harley had both but Peter wouldn’t take it from him anyways. The phone made a sound; Peter's eye skimmed over Tony's response. It felt like a balloon full of tension was popped in his chest. Peter relaxed, casting a hopeful glance at Harley.

“He’s coming.”

_\---_

Tony wildly grabbed at his phone as it went off four times --- no _seven_ \--- times in a row. His heart dropped as he fumbled to unlock it, mind racing as he thought above what the hell it could be. Another ransom picture? Or worse, some sort of video like they’d threatened? 

He opened the attachment first, brain short-circuiting at the sight of the blurry selfie of Peter --- _Jesus_ was that blood? --- and Harley laying down on a porch swing in the background. If the picture didn’t mean that Tony was having some sort of stroke or mild heart attack, the six texts from Peter certainly confirmed that he was losing his mind (or maybe that was the lack of sleep and sustainable food):

_Hey Mr. Stark it’s Peter can you come get us_

_It’s Peter here is the address:_

_Also please bring food we are okay but we're starving_

_Also Harley might have guessed I’m Spider-Man he looked suspicious_

_Thank you_

_:)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a comment if you liked it (or just hit kudos)
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr @itsy-bitsy-spider-fan


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